


The Varden High

by ThatRandomReader



Category: Eragon (2006), The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Don't Judge Me, F/M, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, I don't know what I'm doing, I'm Trying Okay???, NoPlot!!!:), Not Great Grammar, OC characters, Slow Updates, Strong Language, what even is this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-09 23:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12899304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatRandomReader/pseuds/ThatRandomReader
Summary: When Arya's mother gets transferred to a town called Uru'been, where she now works as Mayor of the city, it means she has to leave everything she's ever known behind back in Ellesmera, including all her friends and boyfriend, Faolin. She soon finds out that everything isn't so bad, despite her original beliefs. She meets some new and...eccentric... people, and quickly falls into her life as a student at the Varden High.





	1. Proloudge

**Author's Note:**

> Ello' there!  
> No real plot, just a little thing that I've started because of my notorious habit of letting 'what ifs' run around my head when I be bored, which is often. I dunno how long this will last, but I hope for a while. Also, very OC characters, just a warning. So, without further delay, enjoy! :)

Arya didn't know what to think about the situation. First, she was happy that her mother got to be Mayor, because Islanzadi worked harder than should be possible. But, the new job required relocation, and Arya didn't want to leave her life in Elesmera behind. Her friends, Lensa and Esta, or her boyfriend of three years, Faolin, the people she would leave behind. They'd all promised to keep in touch, of course, Arya and Faolin deciding to do long-distance, but it would still hurt not to see them every day. 

"Arya, honey," Isalnzadi cooed to her daughter. "I don't know what to say, dear. Are you happy with the move?" 

"Honestly? I don't know," Arya sighed, looking over at her mother. They were driving to their new home, in Uru'been, though Elesmera was far behind them. "I wish I had an idea about what these people are like. First impressions are important, you've said so your self, on multiple occasions." 

"That's my girl," Islanzadi smiled fondly at the green-eyed youth, who'd melted into the passenger seat of their car, closing said green eyes. She was asleep soon after, to the hum of the engine and the occasional bump in the road. Islanzadi herself began to sing along with the song on the radio, even though she wasn't particularly fond of it. She knew her daughter was right to wonder about the people that would now be their neighbors. The single mother wondered how Arya would react to such different people, since the girl had known her friends from Elesmera since they were practically born. 

A few hours later, Arya awoke to her mother shaking her softly, murmuring at her to wake. She looked up and saw a modern house made of dark stone and wooden lining, there was blooming flowers in the front, and a few trees dotted around the sides of the houses. The driveway was short, since they were in the city. The windows though, they were huge, Arya wondered if they would ever need lights in the daytime. It was a nice house, all in all. 

"Do you like it?" Islanzadi asked nervously, and Arya smiled at her reassuringly. 

"I think it's just what we need," Arya grinned, which was rare these days, since the move had been announced. The youth opened the car door and stepped out, stretching. Her leggings and t-shirt hopelessly crinkled. "Let's just hope it's this nice on the inside." 

Arya jogged slightly up to the front door, and her mother tossed her the key. The door was made of dark wood and had intricate carvings, making it stand out slightly. The teen immediately knew how it felt, if mahogany doors could have feelings. She stepped into the house, looking around to what seemed to be a parlor like room, taking off her shoes. The walls were a light cream color, the floors made of wide planks of birch wood. There was furniture, since movers had come earlier, along with her Islanzadi to make sure everything was in place. Arya found the living room next, which was similar to the parlor, but slightly bigger, and as a centerpiece had an enormous marble electric fireplace, which Arya stared at for a full minute before looking into the kitchen. It was made of dark wood, with marble counters. 

Arya decided to skip straight to her room, since she could only stare at stainless steel stoves for so long. She peeked into several rooms before her mother told her that her room wasn't on the first floor. This made Arya frown, seeing as she hadn't seen any staircases in her self-guided tour. "Mother, where are the stairs?" 

"Who said there were stairs?" Islanzadi had to smirk at her daughter's expression when she led the teen behind the fireplace and to a fireman's pole. 

"You are officially the best mother ever and I love you lots," Arya said, dumbstruck, before hugging said mother. Islanzadi laughed before hugging her back, burying her face in the mass of pine smelling raven hair, hair that was identical to the hair that Islanzadi had. When they released each other, Arya moved away to look at the pole again. "But how do you get up?" 

"Look at this," Islanzadi giggled before wedging her hand into a section of the wall that Arya hadn't noticed before. Then the youth watched in amazement as her mother pulled out a section of the wall, revealing a spiral staircase, the walls lined with books. The entrance was completely unnoticeable unless you knew what to look for, and Arya couldn't love it more. She hugged Islanzadi again, making her laugh, and when yet another hug was broken, both girls giggled like One-Direction fangirls and ran up the staircase. The books were all classics, things like Shakespear and Charles Dickens, the kinds of books that Arya loved most. 

Arya's bedroom was the entire second floor, though it was the size of her mothers, even though it looked smaller. It was lined with bookshelves, all filled to the brim with modern and classical literature. There was a big desk and computer, since neither Arya nor Islanzadi could operate without a big desk neither a computer to do research off of. The bed was familiar though, her Starry Night comforter and sheets already made, the Queen bed in the of a wall. There were other chairs and tables, even a couple stools, for if Arya ever had company. All in all, it was perfect. 

"Oh, Mother! I love it!" Arya exclaimed, tempted to clap like a two-year-old. "This is wonderful!" 

"I thought so," Her mother snickered, then walking over to the fire pole, which went up to the ceiling. "Now help me unload the final things." 

"You're just using that as an excuse to use the pole!" Arya accused, chuckling at her mother's antics. 

"You know me too well, dear daughter," The new Mayor smirked before disappearing down the silver pole. "Oh! That was cool! Come on, try it!" 

Arya did as she was told, immensely enjoying the sensation of falling. Then both women went out to fetch their most personal belongings from their car, and when they were sure everything was in place, they sat down to a cup of coffee, watching the sunset, talking about what Arya's new school might be like. The night edventually grew late though, and both mother and daughter retired to their respective rooms. Neither one could sleep very well, anticipation for the next day, plus the coffee, taking their toll.


	2. The Weird Name Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see what our beloved Eragon gets up to in the morning...

Chapter two: 

 

“Boys! Get your lazy asses up and out of bed!” Garrow yelled up the stairs to his two charges, Eragon and Roran. It was the first day of school, and knowing how long those boys took to get ready, they would need every second they could get. Especially since they insisted on having the Roran/Eragon Express, or Roran’s pickup, which they used to pick up everyone and drive to school. “Dammit boys, I said get up!” 

 

“Yes, uncle!” and “Yes, Father!” mixed together perfectly, and the sound of Roran getting up and moving around was heard. Eragon was completely silent when he walked, it was actually quite scary. No matter how many creaky floorboards he stepped on, it was like he weighed nothing. It made him the master of jump-scares, and the brunette knew it. When the famous ‘Weird Name Club’ got together, which was every day, no exceptions, the screams of Eragon’s victims were often heard.

 

Garrow smirked at the thought, a smirk identical to the one his nephew often had plastered across his face. Eragon's father was unknown, and his mother had died when Eragon was young, leaving him with his uncle and cousin. And as identical as the two smirks were, every girl at the Varden High would insist that Eragon’s was much more charming. Being the caption of the football team does that to you, though it was provable that Eragon was ignorant to the fact that most girls would love to have him on their arm. 

 

Eragon thought there should be a law against getting up this early. 5:45 wasn’t healthy, but twas the life of a high schooler. He did, however, run to get into the shower before Roran did, prizing the hot water above all else, because only the Lord knows why Roran took so long to clean his hair. 

 

A good ten minutes later, the two boys traded places. Eragon got dressed quickly, in a blue shirt that Saphira, his best friend since  _ birth,  _ had bought him over the summer, and some skinny jeans and running shoes. Uru'baen was cold almost year round. 

 

Eragon took a running start, then jumped onto the railing, the weight of his backpack almost throwing him off balance. Almost. The squeak of his sneakers against the metal was the only warning Garrow got to his nephew sliding down the railing, posed comically like a surfer, yet again. The elder of the two didn’t have time to move, but he didn’t, because seconds before they would’ve collided, Eragon sprang upward, did a flip mid-air, and landed perfectly with the lithe grace he always moved with. He’d earned himself the nickname ‘Eragon the trapeze artist’ for a reason, especially when it came to Katrina’s cookies. She was the baking master. 

 

“Fuck, Eragon! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” Garrow scolded, since he would never admit that he was impressed by the youth’s skill.  _ Practice does make perfect,  _ Garrow mused to himself internally. 

 

“Sorry, Uncle,” Eragon’s grin made it perfectly clear that he certainly was  _ not  _ sorry, and Garrow glared at him before moving to the kitchen. “Now where’s the bacon?!”

 

“Kitchen, where else would it be?” Garrow snapped half-heartedly standing by the stove, grabbing a spatula, while Eragon got a plate. Garrow served him a good half of the bacon, some eggs, toast, hash browns, sausage, and pointed him to the fridge for orange juice. 

 

When Eragon sat down, Garrow already sitting in one of the three seats, sipping black coffee, his uncle turned to him. “So, the first day of school, huh?... Any girls?” 

 

“MMPH!” Eragon went wide-eyed at the question, staring at his uncle in disbelief, making the elder of the two laugh at his expression. 

 

“It was an honest question!” Garrow said defensively, holding his hands up. “Roran’s got Katrina, and you’re still single and lonely!” 

 

Indeed, Roran did have his girlfriend of two years, Katrina. Her dad, Sloan, wasn’t particularly fond of Roran, only because he’s his daughter's boyfriend, but tolerated the relationship, seeing Roran was the real deal. But Garrow really liked Katrina, and Eragon was all over the girl, seeing as she was a cookie making machine. 

 

“WONEWY?” Eragon demanded, chewing much faster than was healthy to clear his mouth. “Why on Earth would you think I’m lonely?” 

 

“Because you’re single and depressed,” Roran announced in his way of a greeting, his hair still sopping wet. Eragon made an indignant sound, leaning back, glaring at his uncle and cousin.    
  


“I’m not the one who was held back because of depression,” Eragon snapped back, and smirked in victory as Roran glared, moving to the stove. 

 

“You’re a real bitch, you know that? And at least I had a reason,” Roran’s tone made it clear the conversation was over, but there was a lightness to say that he wasn’t offended. In sixth grade, Roran’s mother had died, and all of them had different ways of dealing with the loss. Garrow worked harder than ever, letting the stress of his job outweigh his grief. Eragon had stayed with Saphira, his best friend since  _ birth,  _  for most of the time, letting her help him move on. Roran’s grades had plummeted, since he’d lost the will to do anything for a while. He’d been held back, and it wasn’t his proudest moment. But, on the other hand, it meant that he was in the same grade level as the rest of the ‘Weird Name Club,’ Katrina included. 

 

Both boys downed their breakfasts, Garrow leaving for work a good five minutes before they left. They swung themselves into to cab of Roran’s pick up, turning up the radio. It was playing one of their favorites,  _ C’mon  _ by Panic! At The Disco, and Eragon sang along to the entire song, Roran laughing and yelling insults about his voice, which were promptly ignored by the proud teen.

 

They made their rounds, going to Murtagh’s house first, since it was the closest. When they pulled up into the driveway, Roran honked, and a raven-haired teen came running out as fast as his legs could take him. He was wearing a dark grey t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and a black backpack. He threw himself into the backseats of the truck, lifting his head only then. Murtagh had heavy bags under his eyes, meaning his father, Morzan, was in another mood. The purple was startling against Murtagh's pale skin but matched with his coal black eyes. 

 

When Murtagh was but a baby, his mother, Selene, had died of cancer. Mad with grief, Morzan had blamed his infant son for his wife’s death. He never did anything, but Murtagh had a dark upbringing, since his Father was still determined not to like the boy. 

 

“Hey, guys!” Murtagh exclaimed the second he was in, and Roran pulled out before Morzan noticed his son was gone. 

 

“What’s up, broski?” Eragon turned around in his seat to fist bump the other teen. 

 

The three continued to chat in good nature before Roran turned onto Thorn’s street, and they hadn’t even started to pull into the driveway when Thorn came running out, his flaming red hair blazing, hooting, and jumped into the back seat through the window of the still moving car. “What’s up brothahs?!” 

 

“Thorn!” Murtagh bellowed, locking his best friend in a headlock, giving an affectionate nugie. “What’s up?” 

 

“Oh, just planning the downfall of the Elves!” Thorn shouted, hooting again, though all four boys yelled and cheering in Varden pride. “Are we going to  _ kill  _ them this year or what?”

 

The Elves was another football team, or they called it  _ rugby  _ over there. In Ellesmera, the city they played for. There was no point in really asking, the four teens knew that they would pound the Elves, just like they had the previous year, and two years ago, and three years ago… The Elves were proud, and its arrogance was what lead the Varden to a smashing victory year after year, for nearly two decades. 

 

“Hell yeah!” Roran cheered, and the four youths roared with laughter. Eragon was the captain of the football, and the four of them all played. It was good fun for the whole lot of them, since they were all competitive and would like to see nothing more than sweet victory each game. Which was often the case, the Varden was nothing as if not skillful. 

 

“Let’s crush those bitches!” Eragon hollered, turning up the radio, which, with perfect timing, decided to play the Varden fight song, since it turned to a local channel. The song blasted, the boys hooting and cheering along with it, all the way to Nasuada’s house. 

 

When Roran turned onto her road, Thorn and Eragon got all over Murtagh for his crush on the dark skinned girl. Nasuada was a proud girl, whose father was high on City Council, and had a lot more authority than he should. But he was a wise man, a smart man, so no one bothered to complain. His daughter, Nasuada, had been brought up with a high education, putting her in all AP classes, and the leader of Student Council. 

 

“When are you going to ask her out?” Thorn teased, sprawled out on top of Murtagh. “She’s going to say yes, might even kiss you, if you're lucky.” 

 

“You guys are as bad as Saphira!” Murtagh complained, referring to Eragon’s blue-haired best friend. She was, well,  _ against  _ subtly, preferring to attack things, making her meaning perfectly known. It was one of the reasons why Eragon adored her so much. That, and her voice was always heard above the cheering of the crowd at his games, and one time she’d even ran out of the stands to bear hug him when he made a particularly amazing touchdown. 

 

“You can’t blame me! She rubs off on me too much!” Eragon roared with laughter, poking Murtagh again. “Dude! Seriously! You need to  _ ask her out. _ ” 

 

“Much easier said than done!” Murtagh wailed, and all went silent when Nasuada herself stepped out and ran to the truck, swinging herself in next to Murtagh. Her dark skin hid the blush well, but Eragon noticed it. And so did Thorn, who gave Murtagh a jab of the elbow. Murtagh glared at him before turning to Nasuada. 

 

“Ready for school?” He asked, biting his lip, and she blushed again. Eragon turned down the radio, so it was silent. 

 

“Yes,” She said confidently, as if she said anything in a different way. She took after her dad in that sense, they were both nothing if not ready to take on the ways of the world with their heads held high. “I’m ready.” 

 

“Good,” Eragon interjected slightly, and Murtagh glared at him. 

 

“Murtagh has something to ask you,” Roran giggled, making Eragon and Thorn roared with laughter, clutching their sides. Murtagh stared at Roran with disbelief, while Nasuada looked at the dark haired teen with obvious hope. It was well known that the two had been practically in love with each other for awhile, and while the rest of the group made as many hints as possible, the two stayed stubbornly ignorant of the other’s growing feelings. 

 

“I hate you,” Murtagh growled at Roran, then turned to Nasuada, a blush turning his face the same wine color as Thorn’s hair, which was saying something. He took a deep breath, to gather his courage, and looked her in the eye. “But, Nasuada...will you go out with me?” 

 

The only sound was the hum of the engine, and for several long seconds, the boys suffered in anticipation of Nasuada’s answer. Eragon winked and made a  _ go on  _ gesture in the mirror, Thorn spelled out  _ duh  _ with his hands at her. When she finally said something, it was barely a squeak. “Yes.” 

 

“WE TOLD YOU!” Thorn roared, punching Murtagh in arm, hugging him from behind. “WE GODDAMN TOLD YOU!!” 

 

“FINALLY!” Eragon bellowed as loud as he could, Nasuada turning to glare at him, which went unnoticed by the celebrating brunette, who was doing a dance of victory in his seat. 

 

“ABOUT TIME!!” Roran shouted while Thorn released Murtagh. 

 

“Now, don’t turn into a couple of PDAs, alright? No one wants to see that!” Eragon and Thorn shouted, in perfect synchrony, making them crow with laughter. Murtagh and Nasuada were blushing fiercely, making Roran guffaw as he drove. 

 

“Can we please change the subject?” Nasuada asked loudly, and Murtagh shot her a grateful look. 

 

“You’re no fun,” Eragon whined, but didn’t push it further. The topic shifted to an upcoming movie the group wanted to see together, which they were all eager to see. Roran pulled up to Katrina’s house then, who came running when Roran honked, sitting next to Nasuada, all of them crammed in the back. 

 

“Katrina!” They greeted, and she blushed at all the attention, grinning. Roran leaned over everyone to give her a kiss, making Eragon gag and point at them, making a face, causing the rest of them to giggle. 

 

“Alright, that’s enough!” Thorn said after a second or two, kneeing Roran. “Drive, bitch!” 

 

“Alright, alright.” Roran chuckled, leaning back and pulling out of the driveway, not, however, before Sloan, Katrina’s father, came running out and stopping them. Roran rolled down his window, and the butcher stuck his face inside it. 

 

“What can we do for you, sir?” Eragon asked, leaning forward. 

 

“Ugh, Katrina, you really ride like this? All crammed up?” Sloan grimaced in distaste, and Roran winced. So, Sloan wasn’t the kindest fellow, but he loved his daughter, and would do anything to make her happy. 

 

“I think it’s fun, daddy,” Katrina’s sweet voice soothing her father, making him visibly relax. 

 

“Okay, sweetheart,” Sloan cooed back, and Eragon had to stifle a giggle. Katrina didn’t look it, but she was cunning when she wanted to be. Then Sloan turned to Roran, snarling. “I would think you would keep her in better conditions, this truck is filthy.” 

 

“Daddy!” Katrina scolded, leaning forward to talk to her father better. “Be nice!” 

 

“Sorry,” Sloan clearly wasn’t sorry. “You just deserve better than him.” 

 

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m right here,” Roran interjected, glancing at the clock. 

 

“I know,” Sloan growled before moving away from the truck. “Now beat it, I don’t want my daughter late for school.” 

 

“Yes, sir,” Roran agreed, backing out while Katrina sat back down. They rode in silence for a couple seconds before bursting out laughing, Katrina included. 

 

“Your father is one Hell of a piece of work,” Murtagh said between giggles, though he would insist that they were very manly giggles. “What was that about?” 

 

“He’s just very overprotective,” Katrina defended, wiping a stray tear away. “And he doesn’t like Roran very much.” 

 

“Obviously,” Roran chuckled before turning up the radio. Thorn and Eragon then proceeded to have a competition as to who could tell the best bad knock-knock joke. Eragon won, if only by a little. The competition ended when they pulled up to Orik’s house, who immediately came running out, the fact that he was vertically challenged dampening his speed slightly. 

 

“Yo! Orik!” Eragon cheered, fist bumping the other teen as he crawled in and sitting on the floor behind the separation between Eragon and Roran’s seats. 

 

“Wassup, my dude?” Orik was always a chill guy, rolling with whatever life threw at him, it made him immediately a part of their group, back in fifth grade. “Gunna crush in Football this year?” 

 

He said this with no sadness, even though he was the only guy in their group not on their team. His parents had forbidden him from being on a sports team, saying that Oriks height would get him hurt, though everyone else dismissed the idea immediately. Orik was tough. He looked tough, he acted tough, and he didn’t let anything get in his way. While he wasn’t on a team, he worked out on a daily basis, and was a very healthy teen. They all were.

 

“Bitch you guessed it!” Thorn crowed, making the entire car burst into guffaws. 

 

“Now let’s get Saphira!” Eragon bellowed, and the car laughed harder at his enthusiasm. Saphira was their last stop, and it was roughly 20 minutes away from the school. And since there was no more room in the back, she often rode on Eragon’s lap, which neither complained about and made everyone else giggle. 

 

They sang along with the radio for a while, and Roran pulled into Saphira’s driveway. They waited for a second, since every morning, Saphira always came bounding out as soon as the truck stopped. She didn’t this time, so Eragon ran up and knocked on the door. 

 

“Hello, Eragon, dear,” Saphira’s mother, Vervada, greeted. Eragon liked Saphira’s mother, she was almost like a mother to him, seeing as how close he and Saphira were. “Looking for Saphira?” 

 

“You guessed it!” Eragon replied brightly, grinning at her. 

 

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but the school called, apparently there’s a new student and they wanted Saphira to show her around, so she left early,” Vervada explained, and Eragon scowled comically, making her laugh. “Again, sorry to disappoint.” 

 

“Thanks anyway,” Eragon said awkwardly after a moment, and ran to hop back in the truck. 

 

“Already there?” Nasuada asked, and Eragon nodded, huffing. 

 

“Let’s go then,” Roran said, driving off. The group talked for the twenty minutes, calmly though, the early hour taking a toll on their moods. That changed, however, when they got to the school.


End file.
